The mirror in the studio bathroom was cracked.
It split Yoo-jin's face into two jagged halves. The left side looked terrified—a pale, shivering stranger with dark circles under his eyes. The right side looked calm, cold, and dangerously familiar.
Yoo-jin splashed water on his face. The water was freezing.
"Who are you?" he whispered to the reflection.
The reflection didn't answer. It just stared back with eyes that had seen too much, even if the brain behind them had forgotten everything.
He touched the scar on his shoulder. The skin was pink and new where the silver spike had pierced him.
Phantom pain.
His body remembered the wound. His mind just saw a blemish in the costume design.
"Yoo-jin?" Sae-ri's voice came from the door. "Director Park is calling a production meeting."
Yoo-jin flinched. He dried his face with a rough paper towel.
"I'm coming," he said. His voice sounded thin. Weak. Not like a lead actor's voice.
He opened the door.
Sae-ri was waiting. She wore a baggy hoodie and jeans, stripping away the glamour of the Red Carpet. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were laser-focused on him.
"Don't let Park rattle you," she whispered, straightening his collar. "She's a shark. But sharks don't eat rocks. Be a rock."
"I don't know how to be a rock," Yoo-jin admitted. "I feel like... Styrofoam."
"Then act like a rock," Sae-ri gripped his shoulders. "Fake it until you make it. That's Rule Number One."
They walked into the main control room.
The atmosphere was heavy. It smelled of stale coffee and fear.
Director Park sat on the producer's chair, feet up on the mixing console. She was scrolling through a tablet, shaking her head.
Kai was pacing in the corner, nursing his bruised ribs. Min-ji sat on the floor next to Eden's silent, battered chassis, holding his cold metal hand.
"Sit down," Park pointed to a folding chair. "The reviews are in. And they're brutal."
Yoo-jin sat. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to make himself small.
"What reviews?" he asked.
Park tapped the screen. She cast the video to the main studio monitor.
"The Ministry of Defense just dropped a press release," Park said. "Or rather, a teaser trailer for your execution."
The screen flickered.
Heavy, dramatic music played. The kind used in crime documentaries.
Grainy footage appeared. It showed Namsan Tower glowing violet.
"The Architect of Chaos," a narrator's deep voice boomed.
A picture of Yoo-jin flashed on screen. It was an old photo from his Zenith ID card. He looked arrogant. Untouchable.
"Han Yoo-jin. Former Zenith manager. Suspected leader of the bio-terrorist group, Starforce."
The video cut to shaky cam footage. It showed the riot at the Dome. It showed innocent people screaming.
But the editing was manipulative. It cut out the soldiers shooting. It cut out the sleep-inducing song. It only showed Starforce fighting back.
It made them look like aggressors.
"He brainwashed the youth," the narrator continued. "He turned idols into weapons. And last night, he attempted to hijack the minds of Seoul's citizens."
Yoo-jin watched, horrified.
"I did that?" he whispered.
"No!" Min-ji jumped up. "That's a lie! That's evil editing! They cut out Apex!"
"They didn't cut him out," Park said calmly. "They recast him."
The video continued.
A new image appeared. A pristine, glowing image of Apex standing atop the tower.
"This rogue AI, created by Han Yoo-jin, was destroyed by brave government forces," the narrator lied smoothly. "But the terrorist remains at large."
The video ended with a phone number for tips and a bounty.
[REWARD: 500 MILLION WON]
The screen went black.
Silence filled the room.
Yoo-jin felt sick. The nausea rolled in his stomach like a bad script.
"They blamed me," Yoo-jin said softly. "They blamed me for everything."
"Of course they did," Park lit a cigarette. "It's the perfect narrative. The government creates a monster? Bad PR. A rogue producer creates a monster? Box office gold."
She pointed a finger at Yoo-jin.
"You're the villain, kid. The nation hates you. If you step outside, a mob will tear you apart before the police even get there."
"I didn't do it," Yoo-jin looked at Sae-ri, pleading. "Tell me I didn't do it."
"You saved them," Sae-ri said fiercely. "You saved everyone."
"But the video..."
"It's a deepfake!" Kai shouted. "It's propaganda!"
"It doesn't matter if it's fake," Park exhaled smoke. "It matters that people believe it. The truth is boring. The lie is entertaining."
Park stood up. She walked over to Yoo-jin.
"So, here's the pitch. We have two options. Option A: I turn you in. I collect the reward. You go to a black site prison forever."
Sae-ri stepped forward, hand reaching for the glass ashtray again.
"Option B," Park ignored her. "You fix this."
Yoo-jin looked up. "Fix it? How? I don't remember anything!"
"You don't need memory to spot a bad edit," Park leaned down, her face inches from his. "Look at the video again."
She replayed a clip. The scene where Yoo-jin was supposedly commanding the riot.
"Look at the timestamp," Park challenged. "Look at the lighting."
Yoo-jin forced himself to look.
His eyes scanned the screen. He didn't want to see it, but his brain—the Producer's brain—couldn't help it. It was like a reflex.
"The shadows," Yoo-jin murmured.
"What about them?"
"The shadows are wrong," Yoo-jin pointed. "The timestamp says 2:00 PM. But the shadows are long. It was shot at sunset."
He squinted.
"And the audio. The scream... it's looped. It's a stock sound effect. Wilhelm Scream library, file 04."
He didn't know how he knew the file number. It just popped into his head like a lyric.
"Keep going," Park grinned.
"The explosion," Yoo-jin's finger traced the screen. "There's no debris. It's VFX. Cheap CGI. The render quality is low."
He sat up straighter. The fear was receding, replaced by annoyance.
"This production value is garbage," Yoo-jin scoffed. "Who edited this? An intern?"
"The Ministry of Defense," Park said. "Bureaucrats. They have no artistic vision."
Yoo-jin looked at the mixing board. He looked at the laptops scattered around the room.
A strange sensation tingled in his fingertips. An itch.
"They made me look sloppy," Yoo-jin muttered. "I don't care if they call me a terrorist. But don't call me sloppy."
He stood up. He walked to the main computer.
"David," Yoo-jin said. "Give me the raw files."
"What raw files?" David asked, confused.
"The security footage from the Dome. The body cam footage from Eden before he crashed. Anything we have."
"Why?"
"Because we're going to release a Director's Cut."
Yoo-jin sat in the chair. He put his hands on the keyboard.
He didn't remember his password. He didn't remember his mother's face. But he remembered the shortcuts for Premiere Pro.
Ctrl+I. Import.
Ctrl+K. Cut.
He began to work.
His hands flew. He wasn't thinking. He was flowing.
"He's doing it," Kai whispered. "The zombie is producing."
"He's not a zombie," Sae-ri watched him with pride. "He's just rebooting in Safe Mode."
Yoo-jin didn't hear them. He was in the zone.
He took the footage of the riot. He synced it with the audio of the "WAKE UP" track.
He found the frame where Apex revealed his metallic skeleton. He zoomed in. He color-graded it to highlight the unnatural silver liquid.
He added text overlays. Not dramatic narration, but cold, hard facts.
[TIMESTAMP: 21:00]
[SUBJECT: UNIDENTIFIED AI]
[AFFILIATION: MINISTRY OF DEFENSE]
He cut to a shot of Eden shielding the trainees. He slowed it down. He added a soft, melancholic piano track underneath.
It shifted the genre instantly.
It wasn't an action movie anymore. It was a tragedy.
"The emotional arc," Yoo-jin muttered to himself. "Establish empathy. Identification with the victim."
He worked for an hour. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Finally, he hit Render.
"Done," Yoo-jin spun the chair around.
He looked exhausted. Sweat beaded on his forehead. But his eyes were bright.
"Play it," Park ordered.
The video played.
It was three minutes long.
It didn't scream "I am innocent." It whispered, "They are lying."
It showed the fear in the trainees' eyes. It showed the robotic coldness of the soldiers. It showed Yoo-jin, not as a commander, but as a desperate man trying to hold back a tidal wave.
And it ended with a shot of the Namsan Tower going dark.
Text faded in:
THE SIGNAL STOPPED.
ASK THEM WHY.
The video ended.
Min-ji was crying. "That's... that's exactly how it happened."
"It's good," Park nodded, impressed. "It's viral material. But how do we distribute it? They blocked our social media accounts."
Yoo-jin looked at the blank screen.
"We don't use official channels," he said. The strategy formed in his mind automatically. "We leak it."
"Leak it where?"
"Fan forums," Yoo-jin said. "The dark web of K-Pop. The sasaeng boards. The conspiracy theorists."
He looked at David.
"Upload it to 'The qoo'. Tag it as 'Deleted Zenith Trainee Cam'. Use a VPN."
"The fans will do the rest," Sae-ri realized. "They love a mystery. They'll analyze every frame."
"Exactly," Yoo-jin rubbed his temples. The headache was back. "Fans are the best detectives in the world. Give them a clue, and they'll solve the crime for you."
David began the upload.
Yoo-jin slumped in his chair. The adrenaline faded, leaving him empty again.
He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
"I still don't remember," he whispered to Sae-ri. "I know how to edit. I know how to spin. But I don't know why."
"That's okay," Sae-ri knelt beside him. "The 'why' is sitting right here."
She pointed to the team. To Kai, Min-ji, David. To the broken body of Eden.
"You built this family, Yoo-jin. Even if you forgot the blueprints, the house is still standing."
Suddenly, a sound came from the corner.
Whirrrr.
It was louder this time.
Eden's chest panel vibrated.
The green light stabilized. It stopped blinking and stayed solid.
[SYSTEM REBOOT: 1%]
A voice, crackly and distorted, drifted from the speaker.
"Upload... complete," Eden droned.
David jumped up. "He's online! But barely. He's accessing the local network."
"What is he doing?" Kai asked.
"He's... watching the video," David stared at his tablet. "He's streaming Yoo-jin's edit."
Eden's gray eye turned slowly toward Yoo-jin.
"User 734," Eden rasped. "Narrative... corrected."
Yoo-jin looked at the machine. He didn't feel fear this time. He felt a strange, warm tug in his chest.
"You liked the video?" Yoo-jin asked tentatively.
"Pacing was... acceptable," Eden replied.
Yoo-jin laughed. It was a short, surprised sound.
"He's a critic," Yoo-jin smiled. "My bodyguard is a critic."
"He's learning from the best," Sae-ri squeezed his hand.
Park stood up and clapped her hands.
"Alright, sentimental time is over. The video is live. The internet is about to explode."
She walked to the window and peered through the blinds at the gray Incheon sky.
"You just started a war with the government, kid. You better hope your fan club is ready for a fight."
Yoo-jin looked at the screen. The view count was already ticking up.
10 views.
500 views.
10,000 views.
The comments were flooding in.
Is this real?
Look at the shadows!
Who is the guy in silver?
#JusticeForStarforce
Yoo-jin watched the numbers climb.
He didn't know who he was. But looking at the chaos he had just unleashed, he felt a spark of something dangerous ignite in his empty soul.
He leaned back in the chair.
"Let them fight," Yoo-jin whispered. "It's good for ratings."